


Maelstrom

by Pentaphobe



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4195125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pentaphobe/pseuds/Pentaphobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Storm and Sabretooth are kidnapped to be a part of Stryker's experiments. Only for Mr. Stryker to realize that the pair while enemies, when given a common one, seems to all to quickly find a means to survive. Difficulties and all too curious interests along the way aside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More Ororo shippage because why not.

The predicament itself was hard to gather given the circumstance.

The frigid winds swept through the spaces between the trees, howling with a daunting fury, curling wisps of ice and snow with it. The sky’s clouds were darkening with the hours that passed, them trudging through thick, knee-high depths of snow. Behind them, their footsteps were rapidly vanishing in rising snow-drifts -- the winds were lifting and pushing the snow about, forming wide hills and twisted heaps. In front of them, there was nothing but more woods... and the hope of a city -- a settlement -- or discovery.

Ororo, never imagined herself -- whether because of her own vain pride or what have you -- depending on the murderous man that she was pressed close to currently. Just as much as she could assume he couldn't imagine for himself depending on the weather witch. She was dependent on him to trudge through the cold heaps of snow as they navigated along an aimless path. Although, for a while it would be hard discern where exactly they were going given they were only minutely communicating.

According to Victor, he could smell a hint of smoke and metal in this direction -- but it was far off. Very far off. Ororo would just have to trust him. After all they had both been through a great ordeal. They had escaped Stryker’s facility. Only just barely and doing so in the ungodly natural elements they were in now. Not only that, but their mutant abilities all largely suppressed by the serum that they had received. His strength, sense of smell, along with his claws and fangs remained, but his healing factor was gone almost entirely. Ororo was in the same boat. Her weather abilities were nitched, save for her energy sight and the night vision that came with it, as well as her physiological ability to adapt to her environment

It largely put them dependent on each other. Victor was not able to automatically adjust to the frigid cold that hit him and that is where Ororo came in. She adjusted to it, the swirling storm of snow around that affected her little to none. Her body feverishly warm, only aided by the denim and t-shirt she wore.

Victor despite his wears -- cloaked in little more than a loose-fitting collared shirt (mostly torn), slacks, and a long, black trench-coat (tattered along the fringes) he had scavenged from one of the men he had nearly torn apart back at the facility -- was not spared. He sheltered her from the blast of the cold while she pressed in close against his back, borderline being carried by his footsteps as a steady source of heat to work. To get through the snow -- which was already nearly three feet thick ahead of them -- she needed his strength, to forge a path. To stay warm and just **survive** , he needed her heat.

It was, for the moment, a very tentative truce. That strength of his forcing them a way through the snow and the ice while following the trail of smoke and metal he had indicated when the sun had been up. It had been hours since then and they were still walking. For a moment, the trust she forced herself to try was beginning to waver.

A feeling of self-called foolishness settling in the pit of her stomach until she found his steps staggering. As much as she was hard pressed to offer affection, she was not unsympathetic and he was her ticket out of this alive. "Sabretooth..?" Her head inclined to see his features, to gauge if he was alright. She could feel his muscles growing weaker, tenser -- his breath, once smooth and easy, was growing heavy and cloudy, breathing out long trails of vapor. He was starting to flag. Soon, they would have to stop and rest.

Lucky for them, the brilliance of her white eyes was not just for looks and visually gave her a good enough sight through the turbulent winds. There was a broken down truck on a snowed over road. It wasn't much, but it meant in the very least they were heading somewhere.

However, he didn’t answer her and for a moment. His face was hard to read, at this point. His expression twisted into a scowling snarl, but it was always twisted into a scowling snarl. "Victor," addressing him more personally, to get his attention despite the unsettling familiarity of saying his name. Fortunately enough, it worked. A low, dull growl emerged from his throat, but it was lethargic, the sound of a beast too injured to attack but too vicious to not give it a shot.

"Victor, we should stop.. I can see a truck we can take shelter in." Maybe after the storm blows over, maybe she could hotwire it. Use some of her old thieving days' tricks.

She wouldn’t see his eyes narrowing, brows setting themselves low though he obviously acknowledges that her observation was absolutely relevant. The idea that it wasn’t was foolish and while he was a beast--an animal in his most natural of states, he would not deny the opportunity to survive. So, upon her going to call his name again, he began to make them a path on towards the road. Somewhat sagging when the lower level of snow allowed him to reduce the work needed to venture towards the truck.

The door was fortunately unlocked and they both made their way inside.

She trudged behind him, using his shadow to shield her face from the blare of the snow till she could climb into the passenger seat behind him and close the door behind herself. Soon after, she joined him in the interior. Victor crowded on the interior’s floor between seats where he could gather warmth and begin shake off of snow like a lion freeing its mane. His dense, powerful frame while taking up space began to quiver, twitching and trembling at the shoulder.

The truck had a bit of room for them to move around in and huddle into the back of seats, but more importantly the standard emergency things.

"Bright Lady.." A warm sigh passed Ororo's lips. While he shook off the snow, she assumed, she entirely shed her clothes. Favoring her near naked shoulders, she pushed off the boots she wore before she turning to the compartments she glanced at. There was some water, a few snacks, a flashlight, batteries, and some other things, but more importantly blankets.

Her attention eventually went to Victor, seeing his massive frame starting to shake. There was the imminent danger of him potentially getting hypothermia and as much as she didn't like it.. she needed his help.


	2. Chapter 2

When they first forged their 'truce', his contribution to the conversation had consisted of little more than a few monosyllabic grunts, a growl, and an utterance, barely intelligible, of 'yes'. In fact, he had spoken so little that Ororo couldn’t helped that she presume that he was even **capable** of speech.

Ororo reached out to touch his shoulder before remembering herself. Seeing as it properly got his attention before, "Victor." Begrudgingly, she shuffled closer on her knees while unraveling the blankets to offer to him as she suggested, "You should take off the coat, the shirt as well. Here."

Despite his initial resistance to her suggestions, he began moving to do just that -- the coat shrugged off, shoved deep underneath the car seat. The shirt came next. Claws were too stiff, too frozen to work the buttons so, they saved the obstacle by _gouged_ at them, tearing through fabric. The fabric was ripped, clumsily stripped off his body as his breathing grew heavier. A thick mist emerged from his lips with every breath... Underneath the coat, beneath the shirt too, there was a harsh, masculine geography, muscle and sinew, arched with long, deep scars. Unlike Logan, Creed's healing factor wasn't nigh-unstoppable; it certainly wasn't very neat, either.

At this point, the man was for lack of better words, feral; the gleam of those claws, the dullness of the eyes -- the way his teeth clenched together, the way he shook off the snow like a dog shaking off water -- it left her with the daunting realization that she was alone in this enclosed space with a beast, an animal _extraordinarily capable_ of tearing her limb-from-limb. An image, perhaps -- of the truck rocking in the snow, of the windows smeared with blood, of enraged snarls and tearing sounds... but, if that was what was to come, he was making a poor show of it now. He was clearly in no condition to tear her limb-from-limb -- despite the warmth she had pressed to his back, his front was ladened with frost -- his body twitching, spasming in the throes of hypothermia.

At the touch to his shoulder, however, his arm -- his body tensed and rippled, those muscles clenching like steel cable about to snap. He snapped his head toward her, and there was a brief **clamp** of his jaws -- of razor-sharp teeth, biting at the air, only a few feet from her face. The steely clk! from his teeth towards her--her face, immediately got him a response to respect the space that was necessary between them. Cushion easier to hold her than steel or ice, so at least that was better.

But, then, with a low, feral growl, he seemed to calm -- and moved, silently, reluctantly -- like some enormous tiger -- toward her, and the blankets. Still-growling, even as he did. The hunkered posture gave no better image than the prowl of the jungle cat he was. It was a menacing flash of imagery when she thought of home; the Wakandan jungle paid visit by the predator that stood before her, she could see him amidst the darkness, feral eyes glowing through the canopy as they did now in the onslaught of approaching darkness. And yet, however frightened she was, the stoicism of her own features was unmoving as if some sort of shield for her. It was almost unsettling to have to do so, but she awaited his move. As if trying to domesticate a wild cat. He felt that reluctant tremble from within her. The growl continued, even as he slunk toward her -- toward the blanket, toward the warmth and comfort. She only moved when he moved closer and she moved very, very slowly. Every movement from her was in front of his eye sight. He saw her shift closer, briefly, to pull one end of the blanket. Soft, thick wool spreading over the meaty denture of his shoulder and across the curled, tense curve of his back and pull it over to the next before returning her hands to herself. He paid close attention to her, this source of warmth--her and the blankets, that is. It showed no signs of vanishing as she helped the blanket up over one broad, powerful shoulder nor the other. However, it was clear the warmth, at least, was appreciated. Even if his fingertips began to claw at the fabric of the seat beneath him, like a cat pawing at the earth as it struggled to find a comfortable perch. The motion was slow and clumsy, his stiff, frigid fingers having grown awkward from the cold.

At least, she knew he wasn't going to **freeze** to death and so she retreated. And when she did so, he relaxed, but only slightly. The growl lessened in its intensify as he curled himself beside her, not against her, but close enough within her space. She got a better look at him, now; the way he hulked over her, even hunched, the way his breath was shivering with every exhalation. It’d be a minute before his body temperature would even out. Unlike her skin, his flesh was comparatively icy, deeply tanned marble. It was miracle he hadn’t simply dropped from the cold yet. Maybe his healing factor was returning, a little. Or, maybe he just had a helluva an endurance.

However, there was the matter of his extremities, particularly his hands and the lack of circulation in them, the way they fumbled to work before and curled. A missing throat was not something she wanted to risk. So instead she opened her own hands to him.

When she reached out with her hands toward him -- he tensed, again, the growl intensifying, his shining eyes snapping to her hands, watching them. Of course, she froze when his eyes **glare** at her hands not even getting the chance to motion closer to him. So, she stayed still, making note of the continued awkward clawing. He having yet to find a particular position that was comfortable and now, this interaction was a distraction from that. It was an unpleasant shuffled back and forth, making room for herself and him into the cushions of the seats and the interior. All the while trying to solidify in her head that it was absolutely necessary. He bristled, the muscle and hair at the nape of his neck standing on end -- and the lids of his eyes dropped, a little, his expression growing a smidge less tense. His nostrils flared -- taking in her scent. He took in the smell of earth and rain; the zest of electricity that was at the tip of the tongue, as if she came--birthed from the heavens and earth in a single, clashing moment. And whilst he did, she noticed. After all, he had keen senses and perhaps he was like Logan in that fashion. The growing used to her smell would help.

Stiff fingers surely would become pained if they stayed in such a way. So, again she waited. But, if anything she was patient.

Her hands reached for him once more. Her arms attempting to be open, relaxed, and non-threatening as possible so her fingers just touched his hands. The growling did not change when she made contact. The bright, white orbs watched him and she left her fingers, when she glided her fingertips underneath, to the pads of his palms, the growling.. it **stopped**. And suddenly, he was staring at her: nostrils flared -- eyes dark -- penetrating.

Warm, soft fingerpads just resting there, before she shifts them ever so slowly to slip under to reach to glide the pads across his palms. The tips pressing into the deep callouses, just that tender touch. Allowing the apparent chasm warmth from her to itch away at the icicles that claimed his hands, before long beginning to work teeny, tiny circles. As she did, his palm tense, fingers clench, and his stiff, unresponsive digits began to twitch as if coming back to life. Just a smidge of circulation beginning to flow through them. A faint pulse of pain and a sort of grimace turning his lip up in a slight snarl.

The silence was, in some ways, potentially more terrifying than the sound of that ever-present growl... For a half-a-second, her heart started to pick up when the ever-present growl stopped. Almost preparing to brace in whatever way she could for whatever damage he might deal onto her but, the intensity of that stare abated. And, just like that, he calmed. She could feel it in the sudden slump of those muscles, even through his hand. See it in the way his shoulders slid back to the seat, in the way his eyes lost that edged, angered glimmer, hear it in the smoothness of his breath, the deepness of it. The tension slipped out of his face like some massive beastial predator, a massive tiger who had wandered his way into this warm place, and had finally decided not to eat the companion he discovered in there.

As he started to unravel from the tension, her own emotion slithered through, a myriad flickering across her face: fear, relief, satisfaction, and newly found, curiosity. While there was the task at hand -- her fingers working into his skin to reach the veins, the blood vessels and inner circuitry to get things moving once again -- she was watching him still. His hands began to stretch; fingers extending, claws pricking at the seat underneath, before lifting up into the contact of her own fingers, her own palms -- allowing her to warm his hands, to extend that heat down the length of his wrists... and, lazy-lidded, sluggish and slackening -- in a state of thoughtless relaxation -- he produced another sound.

A sound that very, very few people had likely ever heard him make -- never mind thought him capable of.

The beast-like man was longer unhinged, relaxing from the primal anger burning beneath the surface till it fell away. As the tension in his features itself began to melt away and only to realize a new sound emerged from him, in the sluggish, reverberating rumbles.

**_He was purring._ **

She felt her own apprehensive clench, unclench. It made a flutter in her stomach, being privy to such things without meaning to. Essentially, not exactly knowing how to react to that. A sort pleasant sensation settling now that there was the ever-present imminent danger. By him or the cold. Her hands more confidently now began their kneading into the webbing of each digit and the knot of each knuckle. Almost leisurely doing so. Her hands wandered to his wrists, just rolling her thumbs over the prominent veins there and doing the same to the thickness of his forearm. Doing so until her fingers were somewhat leathery from their generous work.

Eventually she minded herself, pulling her own blanket close in around herself.

When, at last, her hands withdrew -- sliding past his powerful forearms, his wrists -- and she dragged her own blanket around herself -- he stirred, sluggish and sleepy, and actually moved closer. There were still blankets between their skin, but the warmth from her was enough to coax him closer -- like a moth to a lantern.

More importantly, though, she felt his jaws just above her head, a tooth pressed against her hair. It would not take much for that jaw to open -- for those teeth to snap down. The amount of pressure that jaw could exert was considerable -- and it would be very easy for him to chomp down with enough force to crack her skull open like an egg. And yet, even as he settled closer, she could still hear -- fainter, now, but still unmistakable -- the sound of that sluggish, gentle purr.

To see and hear the evidence of the fragile mind near her was enough to make that queasy sensation in her stomach squeeze. She did her best to not take too much of a notice of the priceless opportunity to see this Sabretooth. She tried to bate the sympathy that was beginning to etch its way into her heart with logic, with reminders of the previous deeds he had done, but it was a losing battle. So, she called a draw with her consciousness and instead moved to curl herself up in the blanket. Her bright eyes beginning to squeeze shut, attempting to block feelings, the circumstance--the world out, till she felt and heard the shuffling over to her. For a moment, she froze at feeling him so close, half curling around her with his face not too far from her own. Especially considering moments ago he had *snapped* at her. Her mind kindly reminding her that he had just allowed her to touch him a minute ago.

A bittersweet rain started in the back of her mind, but at least she didn't pull away. That didn't mean she relaxed though. She was still frozen a few seconds more, before squirming beneath the blanket. Majority wanting to pulling away, and she did just that -- an inch or two, so the beginnings of her white mane, moved from under the pressed tooth -- and she had a little more room. Not that it made any difference. She still heard the unexpectedly endearing, rumbling reminder of his presence, as well as the small loom from his shadow. Which she tried to shut out by squeezing her eyes shut yet again and awaiting for sleep.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I am an unfortunate slow poke.

He was running. Just running for what felt like hours.

The lands was swallowed by a black fire all around him. It burned with a cold rage like a sedative to his senses. The sky above him was red, crimson like blood with the most overbearing heat that he had never faced before.

No jungle had this fury and he never felt so caged. Caged by his own rage.

He was by himself in the dark. Now, Victor wasn’t one who was afraid of the dark. No. He relished in it, used it to set the field of his playground, safely letting him escape into the shadows when his play--his work was done. This was different. He felt himself unravel from the inside out. Victor wasn’t one to be easily swayed with pain. Pain had been used to persuade him before, used to manipulate him.

This time, he felt it sink into the deepest parts of him and unlock doors within his mind. Like anyone, even Victor had doors he would never open, not the safety of others -- there were very few that he felt any reason to hide himself from, even then he did not; anyone involved with him knew the truths -- but there was things, things for himself that he kept locked away.

And ever so clearly, the hinges of those doors were coming undone. Something was breaking and his claws swiped at the shadows leaking out. 

_No.._

His skin felt like it was on fire, a searing sensation crawling up his arms and chest.

**_Fuc-- no..!_ **

He thrashed and flailed, his hands trying to find purchase in empty air. The red was filling his eyes and his claws found his orbitals.

" ** _NO!_** "

* * *

The trunk was on its last limb, but there was some well hidden gasoline that got the tank nearly half way full. The engine was the problem. What ice hadn't melted from the morning light was keeping a chill on it and wasn't allowing it to get any sort of kick start. She was trying to give it a little jolt, what little she could do currently. Some of her abilities were coming back to life, but she was ever so limited. Well, more limited than her unlikely companion who faced a far more terrifying trauma.

There was no way to anticipate what or who exactly she'd find in the interior this morning: the crude, harsh man she had knew from rivalry with her dear friend or the beast that tucked in close to her? Needing and latching onto their warmth and the security that they provided for one another in that moment of basic, primitive need. Honestly, she couldn't exactly decide which she'd prefer.

_Neither would be delightful.._

Her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip as she pushed on her tippy toes, digging around in the engine. Ororo assured herself with positivity. There possibly a town south of here. The road they were on had to lead to somewhere and there, she could call the institute and she'd be on her way home. Of course, her conscious kindly reminds her of her feline kin ward who had not even months prior had been on the side of Magneto. He was a victim in this as much as her. If not more so, with his addled mind.

_Perhaps Xavier.._

As the thought came, the trunk began to rock. At first a gentle sway, before another sound came. A violent thud from within and a terrible tremble coursed through the metal. Her hand had settled on a part for far too long and she exhaled a sharp yelp, only for it be smothered by a loud, albeit muffled snarl. Ororo's pulled jarred finger to her mouth for nursing while her blown, white eyes lifted to the passenger side of the vehicle. The snarls began to grow in volume and she brought herself over to it. The truck was their only ticket back to civilization. From the tail end, there was a loud creaking. What ever was going on needed to stop.

When she came to the door to the interior and opened it, she was welcomed by a bloodcurdling roar. She expected to be pounce not even seconds after, but nothing came. Opening her eyes that she hadn't known she closed, she blinked.. at the sight of the man--the beast wrestling his blankets, claws unsheathed and trying to shred whatever was restricting his movement in his dream state. "Victor..!" She made a grab for the blankets, tugging them away and off in hops the cold would rouse him. But, it did no such thing. Her voice unheard since the claws were starting to cut against his skin, beginning to dig at his throat--the skin beneath the beard there and the coarse hair on his chin. He scratched and scratched, threatening to leave a trail of red.

Ororo grimaced, carefully taking the step forward towards the truck. "Hey!" She tried to shake his leg but he still kicked and fought.

So, she had no choice. She climbed in, grabbing the blanket as a buffer against his razor claws and pushed on the seating that created a nest space between it and the two front seats. Her legs straddled his body once she placed the blanket down and tried to grapple for his hands to keep them away from his face, watching in slow succession as the wounds began to knit themselves back in place in a grotesque display of his mutation resurfacing.

"Victor, you have to stop! You're hurting yourself!"

She tried to shake him, pushing on his chest to keep him down and keep him from bucking her off his chest. Nothing was working. Only growls and snarls in response, his eyes clenched shut and beads of perspicace were dotting his forehead, red as the rest of his face. Ororo grunted her own frustration as she was jostled, a hand pushing at his forehead to steady herself while the other held fast to the arms and blankets beneath her. The hand on his face was snapped at, vicious incisors clearly looking for flesh.

"Goddess! VICTOR!"

Not knowing why, but that something came over her as she pushed at him again. That same hand fastened through the dirty blonde locks of the beast-like man and **tugged**.

"WAKE UP!"

* * *

Victor awoke up to the lingering smell of fresh rain and mountain stone. He felt like he had just fought a war, with no food or water in his reserves. His chest was burning and the lingering sensation of fire was all over him. Only for him to receive a faceful of sunlight blaring from the not too far distance. He tried to raise a hand to block it, but he found he couldn't move. That's when he realize there was a weight on his chest.

At first, he went to bench press it off, but there was smell of forest dew and heady, tantalizing loom. There was a zang of electricity on his tongue, the sweet smell of a musk he faintly knew and he groaned. He inhaled deeply, rumbling low in his chest. Even deeper when he felt the cool touch of hands on his face.

"Goddess, you're burning up.."

The barrel density of his chest began to even out with his breath. His bright eyes slowly blinked themselves open to take in the sight of blue and white. The blue like full moons and the white like a waterfall falling towards him, stopping at the uneven cut of hair.

"Hey.."

"Mmr.."

"You're okay, it was just a nightmare."

Like a coddled lion, he blinked slow and easy, as if trying to figure out the world around him. Even though, he was placated by the mere presence of her. The hands pressed to the warmer half of his face. His nose tipped upward, letting soft musk emitting from the woman above him, ground him in the real world. She was speaking, but he couldn't make it out. The tempo too soothing and at that very moment, he was distracted.

"Rrrhh.."

His nose brushed her skin, nostrils flaring visibly as he drank her in. A low rumble escaped his chest, slow and sluggish. The soft purr he had produced the night before in the midst of their settling for sleep. Only this time, he was wide away and seeking more contact.. He felt that warmth from before, it made his hair stand on end. That and the sharpness that struck her scent, making it so much sweet. He felt **_hungry_**.


End file.
